


Untouched

by KukkiisArt



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Original Fiction, Shounen-ai, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3148880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KukkiisArt/pseuds/KukkiisArt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His cold white fingers touch the ivory softly. So softly. Stroke it. Finally press it down. A single sound emerges. Then another one. A dance of Ebony and Ivory. Ballett of long, graceful fingers. The movements have been trained a hundred times. The melody has been heard a hundred times. Yet they dance on, and on. The tune is heavy and sad. A waltz. 1, 2, 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original story, that emerged from a dream I had the other day.  
> I'm not sure how many chapters it will have. We'll see.  
> The ratings up there apply for later chapters. ^^ This first one is harmless.

Untouched

Intro 

 

“Is that the last one?!” I call out to my mother, and wipe the sweat from my forehead. My arms are tired. I try to remember where, in our old house, all those books were hidden that I’m currently carrying into the new house, box by box. Did we ever have that many books? I know there was a shelf in the living-room with some of those Law Books. 

That lovely woman, currently standing in the front yard, my mother, is a lawyer after all. So It figures we have books, I guess. “Yes, dear. That was the last one.” She calls happily. Her voice is sweet. Actually, everything about my mother is sweet. The way she moves, dresses, talks. I couldn’t wish for a better mother. Though at times she is a little too sweet. One of these times is now. “Ryan, dear, I made a box of cookies this morning. Would please bring a plate of cookies to all our new neighbors and say hello?” 

 

A deep, theatrical, sigh leaves my lips. “Can I take a shower first at least.” I ask, sounding as exhausted as I feel. “Ah, yes of course, silly.” She laughs, her sweetest laugh and starts to organize the books. Organizing things is her hobby. Within the next hour the books will be neatly put on the shelf, sorted by size, Theme and color. At least she’ll be occupied for a moment. I will get the cookies to the neighbors quickly and then set up my computer. My livelihood. I’m a programmer, gamer, artist. I can literally not live without my computer. Though, I do enjoy a walk outside occasionally, it’s not like I never see sunlight. 

With another exhausted sigh I climb the stairs to the bathroom. 14 steps and they feel like the mt. Everest to me. As said, I’m a programmer, I have a good body build but that’s all thanks to my luck at the pre-birth-gene-lottery. I wish there was something like Stamina-potions in real-life, I think while peeling my sweaty body out of the dirty clothes. The water running down my body only seconds after feels like the Stamina-potion I just wished for. I close my eyes and comb back my hazelnut brown, messy, hair with my fingers. 

I can’t tell if I’m exceptionally handsome but I know I’m at least not a monster. I take care of my body well enough to not let it get out of shape. Being a self employed programmer it’s rare that I get into contact with customers, but my mother’s office used to be in our house and when she took clients home I didn’t want her to be ashamed for me. In the end this circumstance got me a couple of very cute female followers at college. That was when I noticed that, even though they were cute, I wasn’t really interested in them sexually. That basketball club captain though… mhh. When I explained it to my mother she just nodded and asked me if I wanted to use the pink cup for my coffee from now on. That woman. I chuckle at the thought of it. 

30 minutes later I’m showered, dried and dressed again. New clothes of course. The old ones were full of dust and on top of that sweaty. My body feels almost reborn. A shower really does wonders sometimes. “Mum? I’ll go bring the cookies to our neighbours now.” “Do that dear.” I grab a plate and fill it with cookies. I have to bring one at a time or it’ll end in disaster. The cookies smell amazing. They are chocolate chip cookies. My mum loves making them almost as much as I love eating them. I stuff one of the cookies into my own mouth and while chewing I carry the full plate out into the front yard. 

What an idyllic place. A straight street. A straight line of neatly aligned and cut trees on each sidewalk. Each and every house the exact same architecture. At least the colors are different. Our house is light yellow. It looks terrible. I have something against the color yellow. I don’t know why, or what, but I don’t like it. The house to the left of us is just as neat as ours. There are colorful flowers growing in the front yard and the grass has been trimmed just recently. This house is light violet. I might as well start there. 

With this thought in mind I stride towards the house’s door and ring the bell. It takes only a moment until a slightly shrill, female voice responds to me. “Comiiiiing !!!” Only split-seconds later the door is ripped open by a short, round, blonde lady in a silken bathrobe. “OH! Dear. You must be the new neighbor!” She continues to talk. I don’t even get the chance to open my mouth. “What a fine young man! Come in! Come in! Let’s have those cookies you brought to some tea. No doubt they are homemade, yes? Yes. Come now.” She pulls me into her house. I’ve never seen a place so…. Full. For a lack of better words. This place is just stuffed with all kinds of things. Little golden angel-statuettes here and there. The wallpaper is almost invisible underneath all the picture frames. The shelves and sideboards in the entrance hall alone are bending under the weight of all the little trinkets she put on them. I don’t have much time to take in the stuffed entrance hall when she already pulls me to her kitchen. “Sit.” She squeaks. And I obey. Still stunned by the entirety of her house’s interior. 

In the coming 2 hours I learn so many more things than I ever wanted to learn about her life. She is Mrs. Dowledger. Married thrice. The first husband, Karl, a german soldier, died in an accident. The second husband Raynold left her for a younger woman, that bastard. The third husband Charles Dowledger is in hospital with yet another broken bone. And poor Mrs. Marion Dowledger now has to attend to everything herself. Ah, what a pain. I also learned about her ungrateful son and her wonderful daughter who both live far away, etc. etc.

My brain is boiling when I finally find a good enough excuse to leave Mrs Dowledger’s hell of Statuettes and Trinkets. I feel like the refreshed feeling I had after the shower has been gone for ages already. I’m even more exhausted than before. But there is a second neighbor of course. I’m not done with my mother’s task yet. Slowly I scuffle back to my house. I hear my mother in the Living room. Probably unpacking boxes. So at least I’m not the only one working hard. 

With a heavy heart I take the second plate with cookies and leave the house once more. This morning I believed I’d be sitting at my computer by this time. But no. I’m on the important quest of sharing cookies with our new neighbors. I turn my head right. The house to our right is, who’d have guessed, the same as ours, just in a slightly orange color. It looks almost as terrible as yellow. The front garden is neat, no flowers though. I have hope to find someone less eccentric in this house. Maybe this one will only take a few minutes and then I can finally go home? Well, a man can still hope, right? On my way past the garden-fence I note a movement in the corner of my eye. An animal? I turn my head curiously. what I see though is a black figure hunched over in front of the Orange neighbor’s trash-bin. It just stands there. Frozen in place. I notice that I’m the same though. Frozen in place. I can’t make out if the figure is a girl or a boy, nor can I guess it’s age. All I can see is black hair falling deep over a pale face a thin pale neck disappearing into a huge black sweater that seems to merge with the equally black sweatpants below. The person just stands there. It’s a little creepy. 

“Ehm. Excuse me? Do you live here?” I ask politely, to overcome the creepy atmosphere. A few seconds pass then the person responds with a short nod. “Oh good! I came here to give you cookies. My mother and I moved in next door today. We wanted to say hi to our neighbors.” It takes another few seconds until the person starts moving. They come towards me and then stand still. I’m guessing from the hairstyle and clothing that it’s a boy, but I’m not sure. He’s about one and a half heads shorter than me, though that might be partially his really terrible posture’s fault. “Y-...” It sounded almost like a crow and it takes me a moment to understand that he’s trying to talk. “Y-...” another croaking sound. He takes a deep breath. “Y-... You…” Me? I patiently wait for him to continue croaking at me, O so quietly. “Y-...” Did he start the sentence over? “You sh-... sh-... shouldn’t….b-...” It obviously costs him a lot of strength to speak. It sounds forced and I get even more exhausted than I already am just by listening. “You sh-... shouldn’t be here.” Ah! He finished the sentence.

It is still cryptic though. But before I can ask he grabs the plate of cookies and hurries back into his house. I’m paralyzed. Looking after him. The way he moved faster looked a little funny. He also didn’t wear shoes. Well. It would’ve been incredibly boring with normal neighbors, huh? Though, I still like this weird kid much better than Mrs. Dowledger. He didn’t even tell me his name. I look at the postbox. “Crow. Haha...fitting.” I say to myself. So his last name is Crow. He sure lives up to the name. I wonder what’s wrong with him.


	2. Ivory and Ebony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence warning for this chapter.

A week passes, then two, then three. The house is all set up now. Everything looks like we’ve always been living here. All the old memories have been nailed to the walls, or put on shelves. A T-shirt hangs to dry on a hook by the fireplace. A plate sits on the kitchen table with only crumbs left on it. It is tidy, but lively. I like it here. I occasionally meet Mrs. Dowledger when I take out trash, we chat a little, and I’ve really improved my skills of making excuses to return into the house. My computer is set up, the light from my two screens light up my room. A game is running but it shows the Pause screen. The chair is empty. 

I’m standing at the window and stare out into the night. It’s one in the morning, the sky is cloudy and the only light in the entire street are the streetlights. It’s really dark. But in the light of one lamp there are two figures. I’m watching them. One of them is small and hunched over. The baggy clothes make him look shapeless. Like a Thing, not a person. The other figure is slender and tall. Her well-defined curves make it hard to mistake her for anything but a woman. She is taller than the boy. Wearing sharp thin heels. 

Now, why am I staring at them? First of all, I mentioned it is the middle of the night, and the second reason is, they’re shouting. Or rather, She is shouting. I also don’t know who she is. I’ve never seen her before. Now that I think about it, even though my window shows Crow’s front garden perfectly and with no blind spots I haven’t seen him at all in these 3 weeks. There has never been light in the windows either. It’s as if the Orange house was empty. The plate, on which I brought him cookies, hadn’t returned to us either. I jolt out of my deep thoughts when I hear a crashing noise. For a moment it looks like Crow has disappeared then I see the Trashcan rolling into the light on the sidewalk and a black shape cowering on the floor besides it. The angry woman strides past him and down the sidewalk. Soon she disappears into the distance. Crow stays on the floor. Not moving at all. I start to worry. With a quiet sigh I put on a jacket and sneak down the stairs of my silent house, and then outside. 

I hurry over to the Orange house. But… Nothing. No trashcan on the street, not a trace of the spilled trash, and most importantly, no Crow. The house lies in front of me completely silent and dark. 

_______

“Ryan? Honey. I need to talk to you.” My mother sits down in front of me at the breakfast table. She looks serious and a little worried. I wonder if she heard the angry woman tonight as well. “Look, honey. If there’s anything troubling you…” “Huh? Troubling me?” I’m confused. What is she talking about? Isn’t this about the screaming woman then? But about what else could it be.  
“The thing is, Ryan, Mrs. Dowledger saw you wandering around outside in the middle of the night. She said you stood in front of our neighbors house for almost 20 minutes without moving. And that she wonders if you were maybe sleepwalking.” 

Now I’m even more confused. “I just went outside because of that shouting woman. Oh and that neighbor-boy, he fell and knocked over the trash, and then he didn’t move anymore so I went to look if he needed help but when I got outside he was already back inside.” “A shouting woman you say?” “Yeah it was so noisy I couldn’t concentrate on work anymore, so I looked what was happening.” “Ah! I see. That’s good. I was so worried when Mrs. Dowledger came to me to tell me all that. Haha.” Mum laughs a little. Then we talk about the News on TV, her work with a really annoying client and that the gas-prices had risen again. 

Something bothers me, but I can’t put my finger on it. I spend all morning trying to wrap my mind around that code I’m supposed to write, but I can’t concentrate. Something bothers me. With a sigh I let my forehead sink onto the table. Why did Mrs. Dowledger see me wander around but didn’t, at all, mention the ruckus that woman caused. It bothers me. It bothers me. I slap my hands together and sit up straight. I can’t concentrate on work. I might as well go and visit Crow to get my plate back. -You shouldn’t be here.- He said. What did that even mean. That boy is such a mystery. 

I curse my curiosity. For some reason the Orange house in front of me feels threatening to me all of a sudden. As if it would hurt me to step on the neat little pebble-path leading up to the door. The march down the little path feels like an eternity. And the short distance my hand needs to move to reach the doorbell feels even longer. A completely ordinary doorbell rings through the house. Nothing. A minute passes. Then two. Then three. I raise my hand again to ring the bell one more time when the door is suddenly opened. I look at the same pitch black messy hair, as weeks ago.

He is thin. His fingers are thin and bony. His cheekbones and collarbone poke out. His skin is so white it’s almost transparent. His face is almost completely hidden behind a curtain of black hair. “Eh…” I don’t sound as intelligent as I’d like to. Something about his appearance throws me off. He remains still. “The Plate. I came to get the plate.” It takes a while, then he slightly nods and turns his back to me. He is hunched over as the last time. Can’t he walk straight? He’ll ruin his back. He just walks into the house and leaves the door open. I feel strangely entranced. I would never feel like that about Mrs. Dowledgers house, but this one. It’s so mysterious. It makes me curious. I want to see. 

A part of me expects a corpse or two nailed to the walls with bolts, a table decoration from human skulls with satanic symbols carved into them and black candles on top. Maybe a collection of coffins somewhere leaned against the wall and deep red velvet curtains blocking out the sunlight. My feet move by themselves. The Entrance Hall is exceptionally ordinary. Light-blue wallpaper. A framed photograph here and there. A little bowl on a sideboard with a set of keys inside. 5 pairs of shoes standing underneath the coat hanger. All of them women’s shoes. High-heeled and expensive looking. A full fur coat is the only jacket hanging on the coathanger. I wonder where Crow’s shoes and jackets are. Or maybe he doesn’t have any? I feel almost like a detective unravelling a mystery. 

My feet carry me into the next room. It’s the living-room. The Floorplan is the same as the house I live in so I find my way around easily. there is no fire in the Fireplace, and all in all, again, the room seems exceptionally ordinary. “H-... H-.... Here.” A quiet croak from behind me. I jolt and turn around. “Geez you scared me! Ah…” he’s holding the plate towards me. It’s been washed obviously. He’s holding it so tightly with his thin white fingers it seems he’s afraid to drop it any second. I take it out of his hands. “Thanks. Ah right, we didn’t get to it last time. I’m Ryan. What’s your name?” “C-... C-....” I almost fear he’s going to reply with ‘Crow’, but surprisingly he doesn’t “C-... Corneille.” “That’s an interesting name. I never heard it before. Is it french?” I smile at him openly. Somehow he doesn’t seem like a bad guy. Just really hard to talk to. He quietly nods. 

I’m so curious about him. I can’t help it. I wonder what his face looks like under all that hair.  
“Uh-... Uhm….” He starts talking again. It’s the first time he says something by himself. “T-... T-...” he swallows and takes a deep breath again. It really seems to be hard for him to talk. He stutters a lot and every word sounds forced. Also his voice is really cracked, as if he’s never using it. “T-... Thank… you.” He finally brings out. “For what?” “C-... C-....” “For the Cookies?” He nods, and seems a little relieved I took the burden of finishing the word off him. “Did you like them?” He nods again. It’s almost cute. The way he stands in front of me. Making himself smaller than he is, just quietly nodding, staring at the floor. “My mum makes them often. Next time, you can come over to my place and eat more if you want.” 

His head jolts up so suddenly I almost jump backwards. The sudden movement has blown the black curtains away just a bit, revealing more of his face. Pale but full and soft lips, slightly agape, obviously in shock. And equally shocked pitch black eyes, framed by dense long eyelashes. Now it’s my turn to be shocked. His face is really cute. I didn’t see that coming. “Why, don’t look at me so shocked!” I laugh off my own embarrassment. “C-... C-... Can I re-... re-... really… “ “Come over to my place for cookies? Of course. I’ll come and fetch you okay?” He nods. Twice. That’s new. He seems to be eager to come over.

Still completely dazed by the fact that under all that uncombed black hair, such a cute face was hidden, I wander home with the clean plate in my hand. Corneille, huh? I spend the time on my way back to my room with thinking if he’s actually french, or just has a french name. I wonder about so many things concerning him. When I enter my house, the ringing of the telephone bans these concerns to the back of my mind. I put the plate on the kitchen table while passing by it and pick up the phone. 

“White?” “Ryan. Good to hear you. I tried calling twice already.” “Dad. What’s up?” “Oh, nothing much I just wanted to hear if the two of you have settled in. How’s the new place.” “It’s nice.” I smile and walk with the phone to the living room to sit down on the couch before I continue. 

“I live much closer to you now. We could meet sometime.” “That’s a great idea! Actually I wanted to ask you if you wouldn’t want to join me and some friends at the bar where we usually meet. I told them about you and they were really interested in meeting you.” “Well you know me, I haven’t gotten big plans anytime soon. Where’s that bar?” “I’ll just come and fetch you. How about Saturday?” “Sounds great. I’m in. I gotta get back to work now. Just call me on Saturday when you know the time.” “Will do. Oh and Ryan?” “Yeah?” “Ehm… Tell Natasha greetings from me.” “I will.” 

Natasha, my mother, and my dad broke up years ago. No one saw it coming.  
They’d always been a happy couple. And all of a sudden they went separate paths. Of course they both tried to explain it to me. Something about the feeling of Love slowly disappearing. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seriously fallen for anyone. 

______

His cold white fingers touch the ivory softly. So softly. Stroke it. Finally press it down. A single sound emerges. Then another one. A dance of Ebony and Ivory. Ballett of long, graceful fingers. The movements have been trained a hundred times. The melody has been heard a hundred times. Yet they dance on, and on. The tune is heavy and sad. A waltz. 1, 2, 3. The room is dark. 1, 2, 3. Feathers falling from the ceiling. Blood spilling. A sad voice humming the tune. Slow and heavy. 1, 2, 3. White skin in the moonlight. A sad waltz of flesh and feathers. Death and misfortune. A figure is dancing to the tune. She is alone. She has always been. 1, 2, 3. 

_____

I jolt up. My body covered in sweat. My breath running wild. I look around my room. It’s dark. Probably the middle of the night. Why did I wake up? I try to get my thoughts straight. I had a weird dream. I can’t remember the images clearly. But there was a song. It’s stuck in my head now. It’s a sad melody. I’m sure I’ve never heard it before. I sigh and lay back down. What was that dream about? I rub my face. I feel restless now. That’s it for tonight’s sleep I guess. I sit up and walk to the window. My room feels terribly hot. Sweat is streaming down my face. It’s not even summer. My gaze falls through the window on the orange house. The windows are all dark. Just like last night there are figures in the garden. One is crow, the other is the woman from last night. They don’t fight this time. She just walks past him, and again, down the street. Does she leave every night, I wonder. Crow just stands there. Like a shadow. 

I just stare at him. I feel he’ll disappear the instant I take my eyes away. But nothing happens. After what feels like an eternity Crow just turns around and slowly walks back to the house. He almost reached the front door when he suddenly stands still again. His posture changes he lifts his head. It’s the first time I see him doing that. His skin is so vibrant in the moonlight as if it was glowing by itself. He looks directly at me. I stare back. He’s too far to clearly make out his facial features. But I still feel like I’m being sucked in by his black eyes. It’s as if the time has stopped.  
He slowly raises his hand. The black sweater, way too huge for his thin arm, slides down to his elbow. It is a simple gesture of greeting. In a daze I raise my hand as well and wave at him shortly.  
Then the time suddenly flows again. Like last night I quickly grab my jacket. This time I don’t care if I’m sneaky or not. I sprint down the stairs and run over to the orange house’s garden. Will it be the same? Will he be gone when I arrive. I’m out of breath when I reach the narrow pebble-path. There he stands. Like a shadow. Hunched over. All in black. “Crow.” No answer comes from him, but I wasn’t expecting anything. I wasn’t expecting him to actually stand here in fact. Why did I run outside like an idiot. What am I gonna say. Why did I want to meet him. “Crow, I-” My sentence is cut off by a shrill voice “Ryan my boy?! Are you wandering around outside again?” I turn my head in shock. Mrs. Dowledger stands at her door. A single window in her house is lit. “Sorry Mrs. Dowledger. I just came out here to look after my friend here.” “Who?” “My friend.” I turn my head. And as if I’d seen it coming the garden is empty. I’m all alone. The Orange house’s windows are dark. “Nevermind.” I call over to the old woman. “I’ll go back in now.” “Yeah Boy you should. It’s really late. No time to be wandering around.” “Right.” I feel frustrated. With a last look at the orange house I scuffle back to my own place. I spend the rest of the night at my computer drawing. I draw and draw. And when the sun comes up, drowning my room in golden light, I have 5 sketches of a boy, hunched over, hair as black as the night. I wonder if I’m obsessed.

_____

The Bar is warm, and less Pub-like than I expected. Its interior is classy. Lots of wood. Red tablecloth. People chatting happily. “Marcus! Over here!” A man with an absolutely majestic red beard calls my dad’s name. He must be one of the friends we’re meeting. “Robert!” My father responds happily. He’s a man you’d never think of as a cop. He looks like a bookworm. Blonde short hair, still exceptionally full for his age. Small round glasses, a suit that used to be fashionable 30 years ago. But his face is charming. He has a contagious smile going for him and really intelligent eyes. Your typical chemistry Prof or librarian. But no, my dad is a cop. My mum and him met when they both just started their jobs. They were working on the same case, and instantly fell in love. At least that’s what dad says. Mum always tells me she hated him in the beginning but -He just grows on you after a while, haha.-

“‘s that your son Marcus? A fine young man. Nice to meet you I’m Robert. An old colleague of your dad.” I slightly nod my head with a smile. I inherited my dad’s contagious smile, or at least that’s what my mum says. “A pleasure. I’m Ryan.” I introduce myself and shake the bearded man’s hand. What a magnificent beard. “Are you the only one here?” My father asks and sits down across Robert at the table. “Yeah. The others are on their way though. Ah, speak of the devil!” The beard grins a wide grin and raises a hand in greeting to another man and a young woman entering the bar. “Ryan, those are Michelle Summers and José Gomez. Also colleagues of mine. And this is my son Ryan.” My dad sounds so proud it almost makes me blush. Almost. “Nice to meet you.” I greet them and shake their hands. “A pleasure. Marcus talks so much about you.” Michelle says with a curious smile and sits down next to Robert. “Only good things I hope.” “I think so yes.” She laughs a little. “I heard you just moved here? How do you like the area?” José asks. He has a spanish accent and seems just as kind as the other two. It seems my dad found some great friends at work. At least the first impression is pretty good. 

I nod at the question. “Yeah I moved here 3 weeks ago. I didn’t see too much of the area yet.” “A shame. We have some pretty places. If you want we can show you around a little.” Michelle answers and rests her pretty head on her hands. Her dark puppy-eyes are scanning my face and upper body. I can’t decide if it makes me proud or uncomfortable. 

“That would be really nice.” I smile at her openly. She’s my dad’s colleague, she couldn’t possibly start to flirt with me, right? “And how are the neighbors Ryan? I talked to Natasha the other day but I forgot to ask.” I shift my attention to my dad. “The neighbors are… interesting.” “Interesting?” asks the red beard. “Yeah. My one neighbor is an old eccentric lady who loves to spy on her neighbors. She also talks a lot. Really when I met her for the first time she told me about all her life.” Michelle and Robert laugh and José just nods understandingly. “Yeah old people are often like that. “I’m running out of excuses to end my talks with her.” I complain with a grin. “Oh and the other neighbor… is downright a mystery.” “A mystery?” My dad asks curiously. “Yeah. He’s uh… probably around my age… his name is Corneille Crow. He lives there with a woman, maybe his mother? But I didn’t meet her yet. She leaves the house at night sometimes. And he’s a really strange fellow, too. He’s shy and stutters like crazy. And he never wears any shoes. Oh and he needs a haircut.” My dad looks a little worried while the other three just smile and nod to my story. 

We end up talking about weird police cases that involved really strange people. Their supplies of stories seems to be endless and it is 3 in the morning when I finally get home. Dad parks his car in front of my house. “Thank you for coming along today Ryan. It was nice to see you again.” I smile at him slightly confused. “It was fun. Your colleagues are cool people.” “Haha, they are. That’s why we’re friends. I’m glad you had fun. I hope we can repeat it sometime.” “Anytime, Dad. Just call me.” I say and open the car’s door. “Good night dad.” “Good night.” I slam the door shut and watch dad’s dark-blue car drive away. Now that the street is completely silent I feel my own exhaustion clearly. All I can think about now is my soft, warm bed. I stretch my tired limbs and start moving to my house. I’m too tired to take note of the tall, slender woman dressed in a fur coat and high-heels passing by me. 

____

1, 2, 3. A figure gliding through the shadows. A melodic war of Ivory and Ebony. 1, 2, 3. A puddle of blood on the floor, black feathers floating atop. A birds cold body small and fragile. 1, 2, 3. The sad song flows like tears. Dripping from the walls, to the floor, through the air. A cruel lullaby. White fingers trembling on the polished ivory. The song cuts off. Sharp silver blades under his skin. Red tears spilling. A soft voice screams in agony. The waltz has ended.


	3. Corneille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm...  
> Warnings: Fluff and Cuteness  
> Also Scars are a topic. o.o

“-an. Ryan!!! Are you listening?!” I flinch and look at my mother with big eyes. Oh, right. We are sitting at the Kitchen table. I’m helping her making the dough for her cookies in my break from work, while she is telling me about her current client. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” I sound as apologetic as I feel. “Honey are you okay? You’ve been so tired for days now. Is something wrong?” Every time she gets worried a tiny wrinkle forms on her forehead. “I don’t sleep well lately.” “Mrs. Dowledger saw you stroll around the neighbors house multiple times already in the dead of night. Does it have something to do with that?” “I… well… I can’t say it’s completely unrelated. I’m just having weird nightmares.” “Nightmares?” 

She sits down in front of me. Now I have her full attention and the little wrinkle on her forehead got even deeper. “I can’t really remember. These dreams aren’t really nightmares… they are more like sad dreams.” “And you don’t remember anything?” “Well there is someone playing a really sad slow tune on the piano… a waltz. Everything is dark. There are feathers and blood… and someone is dancing.” Vivid visions of slender white fingers gracefully dancing across the piano keys flash into my mind. It has some beauty to it. But the tune stuck in my head is heavy and so sad it wakes me up every night. The song follows me all day. If I knew how to play the piano I could play it just from memory, that’s how vivid it is. 

“And those dreams wake you up every night?” My attention shifts back to my mother. “Yeah. Somehow after a while I wake up completely soaked in sweat.” “And then you go out to clear your head… I understand.” “No. That actually isn’t why I go outside every night.” “Huh?” Now my mother is completely confused. Well, understandable. Everyone would be. “I go out to meet our neighbor who lives in the orange house. He’s outside every night seeing off a woman, but I never manage to catch him.” I sound not half as frustrated as I am. 

It’s true. I’ve seen Crow 7 times, I’ve ran outside 7 times, and never even once talked to him. He is like a phantom. He just disappears. That is also the reason I talked my mum into baking cookies with me today. I need a reason to see him. I’m obsessed with him. I’ve drawn him dozens of times. I can’t think of anything else. Last night when I woke up from the dream, I didn’t even look out of the window anymore, I just ran downstairs and over to the orange house. And it just lay there, dark and quiet as usual. As if mocking me for being out of breath like a fool. 

“Have you ever met him or that woman, mom?” “No. I’ve never seen anyone coming out of that orange house. But I’m working a lot lately. That may be the reason.” “I’ll bring him over today. I promised him cookies.” “Oh so that’s why you suddenly wanted to bake cookies.” My mum wiggles her slender eyebrows. Then she makes a theatrical gesture “Oh, my son is lovesick and can’t sleep.” “It’s nothing like that mum.” I grin at her. “Is he your type?” “Well… no. He’s small and thin and his clothes are way too big. Also his hair is long and messy. His face is really pretty though.” “That really doesn’t sound like your type. But well. Love is unpredictable my dear.” “And I tell you it’s nothing like that. Let’s get that cookies into the oven so I can get him over here.” She chuckles. I’m glad I could ease her worries in the end. I hate to make her worry. She really has enough to think about at work. 

Humming the sad waltz from my dream I form the cookies and place them on the baking tray. “Is that the song from your dream?” My mother asks curiously. “Yeah. Do you know it?” “No I’ve never heard it before. It sounds beautiful though.” I smile a little and shove the tray into the oven. “Yeah. Though it gets to you a bit if you have it in your head for a whole week.” “I can imagine. Alright, how about you go get your, totally not your type, friend from next door and I take care of the rest here.” She says with that lovely smile of hers. I kiss her cheek. “You’re a gem, mum.” “I get that aaall the time.” She laughs. I can barely hear the sentence to the end, that’s how fast I left the house. 

The Orange house in front of me is as it always is. Quiet and the windows are dark. The grass in the front yard is trimmed neatly. The trashcans stand there orderly and clean. I walk up to the front door. At day the house isn’t intimidating either so it feels less like walking up to the gallows than to a door this time. Very comforting. 

I press the doorbell and wait. The awfully ordinary noise rings through the house. This time I don’t have to wait long. The door is opened. But not by crow. A tall, slender and well proportioned woman stands in front of me. Her lips are deep red and her long black hair falls in silken waves over her shoulders. She wears a tight black dress and high heels. If I was straight I wouldn’t be able to take my eyes off her bosom. Even for a gay man it’s extremely hard to look around...all of that. Her bright blue eyes pierce me and it feels like she’s sticking needles into my face. “How can I help?” Her voice isn’t half as unpleasant as the look in her eyes. Her voice is full and beautiful. I wonder if there is anything about her that is not absolutely stunning. “I’m Ryan White, the new neighbor, we haven’t met yet. It’s a pleasure. I’m here for Corneille. I wanted to invite him over.” “Ah, yes he kept blabbering about you.” 

Now I probably look at her like a deer in the headlights. Corneille? Blabbering? Hard to imagine. “I’m Vivienne Bennett.” “Bennett? Not Crow?” “Oh, dear. You thought I was his mother?” “Uh.” I’m even more confused than before. “I’m his Aunt. I had to agree to move in with him so I could check on him, as was my late Sister’s last wish.” “Oh! I’m sorry.” “Nevermind, dear. I’ll go get him. It is the first time he made a friend.” 

Somehow hearing that I’m considered Crow’s friend brightens my mood to no end. I smile like an idiot as she turns and disappears into the house. So he talked about me, huh? I wonder what he told her. What kind of impression did I make on him. He’s so hard to read. Also I’m glad to have solved the mystery of who that woman is that I see every night walking away from the house. That also means that Crow is an orphan. A sad thought. If I think about one of my parents dying my heart feels heavy. I wonder if he is the same. Vivienne reappears with Crow behind her. He wears the same black baggy clothes as always. I wonder if those are his only clothes. Vivienne pats his head and smiles at me “Have fun you two.” Then she disappears back into the house. “Hey.” I say with a smile. He just raises his hand. The sweater slides down to his elbow. His arm is so thin. “I promised you cookies. When we hurry we can take them out of the oven ourselves and eat them hot.” His head flinches up just a little and he nods slightly. He REALLY likes cookies. I start walking, looking over my shoulder occasionally to see if he’s following. He trots after me obediently until we reach the gate. He suddenly stops moving. “Crow?” He just stares on his naked feet on the pebble path. Right in front of his toes is the path’s end. I stretch out my hand to him. “Come on.” He looks up. His black eyes glistening through his long bangs. Then he just takes my hand. His hand feels, and looks, familiar. His skin is so white compared to mine. His hand feels fragile and thin. It’s a lot more comfortable than I thought to hold his hand. I close my fingers around his hand closely. He walks by my side now. 

“Do you not like wearing shoes?” He shakes his head. I’m not sure it it means ‘no I don’t like wearing shoes’ Or ‘no that’s not it.’. I’m sure I’ll find out someday. I lead him into my house. My mum instantly comes out of the kitchen as she hears us entering. “OH! Is that him? Just how you described him. Hello. You must be Corneille. I’m Natasha. Nice to meet you.” She smiles. Crow shrinks even more and I almost expect him to hide behind my back. Yet he just clings to my hand hand looks to the floor. “How’re the cookies?” I smile at my mum to distract her from my shy guest. “Done and sitting on the table. I also got a call from my client I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Be good okay?” “Sure. You too.” She laughs at my answer. “It was nice meeting your Corneille. Have fun.” She says before she hurries out of the house.

I can feel the boy at my side relax significantly after she’s gone. I’m still holding his hand. It’s such a warm feeling. I don’t want to let go. But who said I had to, right? I take him to the kitchen. “Look. All the cookies are just for us.” I can see his glittering eyes fixed on the plate of cookies under his dark hair. “Uhm.” A little sound coming from him. I look at him curiously. I can never guess what he’ll say. “Y-... Y-... Your….C-... Computer…. C-... C-...Can I...s-...see?” He stutters. “My computer? Oh sure. Let’s eat the cookies upstairs then.” I take the plate. So he likes computers? Well, he does certainly seem nerdy. Though it wouldn’t have surprised me if he didn’t know anything about computers either. 

I lead him upstairs. Never letting go of his fragile hand. I already know I’m gonna miss holding it when he’s gone. Up in my room I offer him to sit in my office-chair, but he just sits down on my bed as if it was completely natural to do so. I sit down next to him and reach him the plate of cookies. He doesn’t seem to want to let go of my hand either so we sit on my bed, innocently holding hands, and I watch him munching on one of the still hot cookies. What a bizarre situation. I also can’t help but notice that I like to see him on my bed. He somehow fits there. It looks like a scene that’s as natural as my morning-coffee. As if he’d always been sitting there on my bed. Somehow it’s calming. 

He seems to notice that I’m not eating but just staring at him while he already devoured his 5th cookie. So he reaches out a cookie to me. I grin, for some reason watching him makes me happy. “Thank you.” I take the cookie and start eating it. He puts another one into his own mouth as well, together with a strand of his black hair, but he doesn’t notice. “You’re eating your hair.” I laugh quietly, reach out, and slowly stroke all that hair out of his face. For the first time I can see his face without a curtain in front of it. His eyes are cast down but I can see the black pearls glittering through his long black eyelashes. His skin looks like porcelain. It’s completely flawless and white. Flawless except for the little cookie crumbs on his cheek. A most fascinating picture. Even more fascinating as he makes a slightly troubled expression. I still have my hand in his hair. “Ah! Sorry. I just… I wanted to see your face. It’s always behind all that hair.” I say apologetically and draw my hand back. He raises his gaze and looks at me directly now, then to the side, then down.

“You wanted to see my Computer. Why?” He looks at me for a split second then he seems to be lost in thought for a moment, and finally he answers. “G-... Games.” He stutters. “Games? You mean you want to play?” “W-... Watch.” “You want to watch me playing?” He nods. “How come?” He shrugs his shoulders and bites into the next cookie. The plate is almost empty. He’s a real Cookie-exterminator. I smile at my own thoughts. His hand is still in mine. I carefully run my thumb over his skin out of an impulse. It’s so soft. He doesn’t draw his hand back so I do it again. It is about the same sensation as touching a kitten’s fur, it’s soft and feels soothing under your fingertips, and if you touched it once you can’t stop anymore. 

I know what I’m doing is probably creepy to every normal person, so I look up to him. I’m almost suspecting him to either not have noticed, or for him to look troubled again. What I see though makes my heart skip a beat. His pale cheeks have turned bright red and he seems even more focussed on his cookie than before. I have to think about my mum’s words again. About me being in love. Am I? I don’t even know him. I guess I’m just fascinated by him because I don’t understand him well. But at the same time I know it’s only half of the truth. 

“I uh…” I clear my throat. My voice sounded raspy for a second there. “I’m glad I get to talk to you finally. I try to catch you every night, but you always disappear before I get to you.” “S-... Sorry.” He quietly answers. His face looks troubled again, and I already miss the blushed cheeks. “It’s okay…. can I ask you something?” He nods a little. “When we first met… you said something like -You shouldn’t be here- to me. What did you mean by that?” Now he looks even more troubled. But he seems to be thinking, so maybe he’ll answer. “P-.... People...a-.... a-.... around here….d-... d-... d-... don’t….like… m-... me. S-... So….If you...you’re… se-....seen… with me… they….they…” “...might dislike me too?” I guess the end of his sentence and he nods. “So you were worried?” He nods again. “Thank you.” I smile as I see his cheeks blushing again. 

I catch myself staring at him once again. I clear my throat again and look around my room to get rid of the awkwardness. “Eh… Do you….Do you want something to drink?” He nods again. I get up from the bed. And only now I notice I’m still holding his hand. He noticed it too and looks at our joined hands just as me. I don’t want to let go. But like this I can’t get a drink. Finally he draws his hand back by himself. My own palm instantly feels terribly lonely and empty and cold. “I uhm… I have just Cola here. Is that okay?” He nods once more. I turn with a soundless sigh and get the cola from my sports bag. I know I said I detest sports but I met my dad at the gym yesterday evening so my bag is still packed. I got a good scolding for bringing ‘unhealthy stuff’ like cola to the gym though. I hand the unopened bottle over to Crow. 

The second he opens the lid the bottle almost explodes. I jump backwards in time but Crow gets drenched in the sticky liquid, and my bedsheets as well. His eyes are wide open in shock as he stares at the overflowing bottle in his hand. His hair, his sweater his pants, everything is wet now. “Oh god. Sorry!” I take the bottle from him but it on the floor. “Eh… oh man what a mess. I didn’t see that coming. Do you want to take a shower? I can give you some of my clothes and wash yours.” Crow seems completely perplexed. He doesn’t respond at all, so I drag him to the bathroom with me

“I… I… want to….g-... go home.” his voice is so quiet I can barely hear it. My heart freezes up for a moment. “Really?” I must’ve sounded incredibly disappointed because he lowers his head and frowns. “I mean… look… I’ll give you a fresh towel...you take a quick shower...then some fresh clothes. And in two hours your stuff will be all washed up again.” He remains silent and unmoving. “Please… stay.” I add to my last sentence. Now he finally looks up. His eyes are searching for mine. I’ve really never seen eyes that black. After several painfully long seconds he finally nods. I let out a little sigh of relief. 

I give him a towel and leave him alone in the bathroom. I return to my room to get my bedsheets. Everything is soaked with Cola. His face was priceless, though. When I walk past the bathroom a second time I hear water running. A few inches of wood and a shower curtain are between us now. I can still feel the warmth of his hand in mine. The temptation to open the door and take a peek at his naked body is gigantic. I’m so curious. I’ve only seen him in those gigantic black clothes so far. I’m sure he’s thin. I take a moment to fantasize about his pale thin body, before I shake my head. Shame on me, what am I thinking. I carry my bedsheets and his black clothes that he’d left in front of the bathroom door to the washer. 

It takes me a moment to figure out how to program that machine right, then I go to the kitchen to cook some tea for him and me. I don’t even know if he likes tea. I hope it’ll be alright. “Uhm…” A small voice comes from behind me and I turn around. I almost drop the teacup in my hand. He stands there a towel around his thin hip, the black hair still dripping wet. His skin is as white as I thought. He is really thin. It looks almost unhealthy. And something else catches my eye. There are bruises on his legs his ribs and upper arms. “C-...Clothes….I …. I need… C-...C-... Clothes.”  
“Huh? Ah, yeah.” I nod, still stunned by actually seeing him almost naked. “Sure. Go back to my room. I’ll be with you in a second.” 

He nods and turns around. This time I actually drop the cup. It scatters all over the floor and both, him and me, flinch. Though for different reasons. He flinches because of the noise. I flinch because of what I see. There are two massive scars all the way down his shoulderblades. As if someon’d cut off wings from his back. The scars are deep. The wounds must’ve reached down to the bone when they were fresh. 

 

“T…. Those scars. What happened?!” I sound shocked. He doesn’t turn around. It’s as if he froze in position. I probably asked a terrible question. “Ah, I’m sorry. Nevermind. I shouldn’t have asked.” I apologize quickly and start collecting the ceramic-shards that are scattered over the kitchen floor. “M-... My… Mother...C-....c-...cut me. I…. I was...th-... thirteen… y-.... years… old.” I raise my head. “Your mother? Why...Why would a mother do something like this.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “S-... She… had l-.... l-... lost… h-…. her mind.” he says. His voice trembles more than usual. Then he disappears from my sight. 

I swallow hard. I no longer wonder why he’s so shy, why he has trouble speaking or why his head is always lowered. I take my time collecting the shards. I need to get over what I just saw. I didn’t believe until now that cruelty like that actually happens outside of stories and movies. I mean, I knew it did, but I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe that there are parents who mistreat their children like that. How ignorant of me. I feel terrible, and I can’t even begin to guess how Crow must feel. 

I take the tea back to my room after a while. Crow lays on my bad. He’s wearing a sweater and sweatpants of mine. My Dresser is wide open. He probably got sick of waiting and helped himself. His eyes are closed, his hair still wet. He looks like he’s asleep. “Crow?” I get no reaction. Maybe it didn’t bother him after all? Well it has been years ago, maybe he’s over what’s happened by now. Would he be sleeping soundly like that otherwise?

I stand in the middle of the room watching him calmly. For minutes. A little smile creeps on my face. He looks so peaceful. I thought for sure having him here he’d behave really awkward, trying to touch nothing, waiting for my permission for every little thing, feeling all uncomfortable. But he seems to be completely at ease. He even helped himself to new clothes and finally fell asleep on my bed. It makes me happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hate being here at all. I wanted him to be at ease after all. It is a good feeling. 

I sit down on the floor right by my bed and take his limp hand in mine. Then I lay my head on the mattress and close my eyes. Just for a minute. It’s so peaceful. Just for a moment. “Why do you always come to me?” His words are whispered. It’s the first time he doesn’t stutter. I refuse to open my eyes. It’s too unreal. “You’re too interesting to leave you alone. Also we’re friends, right?” “Do you like me?” “Yeah.” “I like you, too.” 

His fingers close a little tighter around mine. I still don’t want to open my eyes. I want to enjoy this moment of tranquility. It’s so unreal. As if it’s a dream. I hope I don’t wake up. And without my consent I’m suddenly fast asleep.


	4. Precious Fragility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of violence in this one. But it shouldn't bee too bad. <3

“Every single bone in my body hurts.” I groan as I scuffle into the kitchen. My mother sits at the table reading in a cheesy romance-novel about a witch and a prince who fell in love against all odds. “No wonder, you slept in an impossible position.” She grimaces at me. “You saw?” “Oh yes I saw you holding Mr. Not-your-type’s hand and I also saw his clothes and the bedsheets in the washer.” “Ack. I know how this must look to you mum but nothing happened. I gave him a bottle of Cola and it exploded. Then he had to take a shower, I washed all the stuff and we ended up falling asleep like that.” “Holding hands.” “...” 

The grin on her face is incredible. I just shake my head and go over to the coffee machine. I spent the entire night sitting by the bed holding Corneille’s hand. I swear I can feel every single bone in my entire body, more than vividly. With a tired groan I sit down at the table. Listening to the coffee machine brewing my daily energy-elixir. “Is he still asleep?” “Yeah…” I smile at the thought. -I like you, too.- he said. It was so cute. “Yeah you don’t look lovestruck at all.” My mum still grins, but then she concentrates on that book of hers again. 

I let out a little sigh. I can’t even argue against her. He was so cute yesterday. I don’t even want to let him go home again. “Mum?” “Hm?” “Was dad your type?” She looks at me and laughs a little. “No not at all. He looks boring. Like a Librarian. I fell for his character… and only then I noticed things about his looks that I really liked.” “So it wasn’t love at first sight?” “Love on first talk maybe.” “Hm.” “Good morning Corneille.” 

My head jolts up and I look to the doorframe. There he stands. Drowning in my clothes almost as much as in his own. The black hair messily falling into his face, and a giant cow-lick on the left side of his head. He looks adorable. “Good morning.” My voice sounds so soft it almost makes me want to slap myself. I can feel my mum’s grin. “G-.... G-.... Good… M-..... Morning.” He stutters. I wonder why he didn’t stutter yesterday. Is it because he whispered? Maybe just talking loudly is hard for him. “Do you want coffee?” He nods slightly and sits down next to me. 

I look at this profile for a moment then I get up and make a second cup of coffee while humming the sad waltz. I set the two cups on the table. “Do you need milk or sugar?” Crow shakes his head. “Okay boys. I’ll be going now. I have to be at the court in time.” My mum kisses my messy hair. “Good luck mum.” “Thank you Honey.” And with that she’s already out of the door. “She’s a Lawyer.” I explain to Crow. He just looks at the table in silence. “Hungry?” He nods. “I’ll just put some stuff on the table and you take what you want alright?” He nods again.

I stand up and stretch my hurting limbs. Then I suddenly feel something soft against my hand. I turn my head and look at my hand. He’s holding onto it. A smile shows on my face. Usually I’d tell everyone they’re idiots if they told me holding hands could feel THAT intimate. But for some reason, with him, it’s like something really special. “Come to the fridge with me then.” I say calmly. He nods again. We are like silly children playing a game. The one who let’s go first loses. The subtle touch of his fragile hand in mine is a more intense feeling than every date or kiss I ever had. 

“Uhm…” I like his way of starting to talk. It’s as if he was warning me - Attention! I will talk now.- “Y-... Y-... Your mum… S-…. She saw.” I chuckle. “So what?” “I-... I’m s-... sorry if…. if she...th-... th-... thinks-” “-that we did naughty stuff?” His cheeks are set aflame once again. It’s lovely. “Don’t be sorry. I like only men and my mum knows. But I explained the Cola accident to her.” The soft hand suddenly disappears from mine. My other hand that was about to open the fridge stops moving. It hurts. Him pulling his hand back hurts so badly I can’t move. “Did I say something wrong?” My voice sounds completely normal. Almost jokingly. 

Was I too careless with my words? Shouldn’t I have told him? Is this already the end? I slowly turn around and look at him. His fingers are dug deeply into the sweater he’s wearing. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said-” “N-.... no.” “No?” “S-... say it…. a-... again.” “Huh?” Now he’s got me baffled. “You...want me to repeat it?” He nods. “Which part?” “A-.... a-... about….l-... liking...m-... men.” “I like only men and mum knows.” “A-... a-....” “Again?” He nods. I don’t feel hungry anymore. I run my fingers into his hair and stroke it out of his face. I stand directly in front of him now. -He’s not my type- Is what I say. But why is he so irresistible for me then. This is dangerous. What am I doing? “I like men.” I bend forward, my face almost touching his. “Why do you want me to repeat it?” 

Finally he raises his gaze and looks into my eyes. He’s so close. I can feel his breath on my face. A faint scent of coffee. His cheeks are red. Irresistable. I slowly close the distance between us. The moment our lips touch, ever so softly, a shiver runs through my body. It’s almost scary. This is too intense. How did a situation like this even happen, I wonder, while I place kiss after kiss on his soft lips. 

The way he softly trembles, shyly returns my kisses, and finally carefully wraps his arms around my neck, drives me crazy. My mind is split between pushing him against the kitchen counter and stripping him out of those clothes, and not touching him at all because I’m afraid to break him. My hands act on their own, though, softly grab his waist and pull him closer. 

Our kiss is as innocent as it is long. I’ve never kissed, or been kissed, like that before. After a while he becomes more playful. Catches my lower lip between his and pulls on it softly, then kisses me again. I do the same. My hands wander to his lower back and stay there. I hold him closely, yet every touch we share is innocent. Innocent yet so much more intense than anything I ever had before. The sad waltz is still playing in my head. Over and over. His fingers are entangled in my hair. I part our lips after what seems like an eternity. 

His eyes are closed and the long black lashes are resting like feathers on his cheeks. He’s so close. The moment his eyes slowly open feels like magic to me. I haven’t seen his eyes that close yet. They shimmer and shine like Obsidian pearls. There is no color difference between his Iris and his pupil, it is all the same deep, devouring black. My fingers softly trace his cheek and down his thin neck. His Eyelids flutter a little and he casts down his eyes. Irresistable.   
My body moves by itself. I kiss him again. I’m under a spell. What am I doing? I don’t know him well, I don’t know him for long, why does it feel like I’m doing something I’d waited for, for decades. 

And then, the moment is over, with the sound of my cellphone ringing. He flinches and draws back, leaving me with a lingering desire for so much more. We look at each other for a moment. The phone rings. He casts down his eyes and turns his head to the side. The black silk-curtains fall back over that beautiful face of his. I let out a voiceless sigh and finally pick up the phone. “Hm?” I’m still in a daze. All this feels like a fever dream to me. “Ryan? It’s me.” “Dad?” My voice is a little raspy. I don’t take my eyes off Corneille, not for a second. “Ryan, that neighbor you told me about. The odd one.” “Mrs. Dowledger?” “No the other one. Corneille Crow.” “What about him?” “It’s a total coincidence I’m sure, but I heard my superior talking about his family today. You seemed really curious about him so I thought I should tell you.” 

Now my dad has my interest. What does Crow have to do with the police? “What’s that about?” I still hold on to Crow’s hand tightly. He stares at the floor. “There have been… stories about him.” “Stories?” “Yeah. Ah this is no matter for a phone call. Let’s meet.” “Alright. I’m at home. Why don’t you come over.” “I’m still on duty so I won’t be able to stay long.” “I have work too so that’s no problem.” “I’ll be there in half an hour.” I nod, forgetting that my dad can’t see that through the phone, and hang up on him. Stories about Corneille? Stories that are of interest to the police? Now he’s got me interested. 

“Crow?” He nods and looks at me for a split second. Then he lets go of my hand. “I-... I’ll… g-... g-... go home.” With that he turns around and walks straight to the front door. I have to hurry after him. “Eh wait. Wait. Ehm. Come over again anytime… okay? You… You still haven’t watched me play games...you wanted to do that right. Also the clothes… they are still drying...and…” He looks at me and raises his hand. A simple greeting gesture. The one he always does. “S-... See you.” He stutters in his quiet croaking voice. 

I feel incredibly relieved for some reason. Only when the door falls into the lock behind him I finally wake up from my daze. I stare at the door, mouth and eyes open. “Whoa… man. What am I doing with my life?!” I ask the door, almost expecting an answer back. An answering door wouldn’t be any less crazy than what I’ve just experienced. 

On the second, exactly 30 minutes after the phone call, my dad arrives. He always looks somewhat wrong in his uniform. He really doesn’t look like a Policeman. Everytime I see him I notice that. I offer him coffee and sit down at the table. My coffee is cold by now and I still haven’t eaten anything. Now that my thoughts have calmed I feel hungry again. So I sit here now biting into a peanut-butter-sandwich, waiting for my Dad to talk. “So. What stories are there about Corneille Crow?” I ask curiously. 

My dad sets the cup on the table. “Well…” He makes a dramatic pause. “I told you my superior talked about the Crows. And because I know he’s your neighbor I got worried and asked about them. So he told me. Did you know that boys entire family died in that house?” “I kinda caught that they are dead but… they died in that house? What happened?” “They were murdered.” “What?!” “Yeah I was shocked, too.” “Who killed them?” “That’s the thing… there wasn’t enough evidence to accuse him but-” “You’re not saying it was Corneille...do you?” “He was the main suspect.” “No way. He couldn’t do something like that.” 

It almost makes me angry to hear these stories. “Do you know what the townsfolk says about him?” My dad asks. He looks genuinely worried. “No. What.” I sound as pissed as I feel. Why do I feel like protecting Corneille? I really don’t know much about him. For all I know it could be true. But… could someone so fragile really commit such a terrible crime? 

“They say, that he brings misfortune and death. Corneille is probably not even his real name.” “Why do you think that?” “Corneille is the french word for Crow. Don’t you think it’s weird.” “Oh come on, Dad. I didn’t think you’d be one to believe in superstitious gossip.” “I’m just worried about you. The people here really seem to believe it. They believe that everyone who gets close to that boy is doomed to die.” “That’s bullshit. I can’t believe you got so worked up over chit-chat like that.” I say angrily. With that I stand up and glare at him. Why am I so angry. He was just worrying. “I got work to do dad.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Be careful...okay? I’m just worrying. I don’t believe all of that… I just thought you should know.” “Thanks.” The atmosphere is too tense. 

I finally take a breath after he leaves.   
Corneille, a murderer? A bringer of misfortune and death? I shake my head angrily and remember his lovely face. The shy look in his black eyes, the blush on his cheeks, his soft lips. -I like you, too.- A murderer? Never. With another sigh I turn around and walk to my room. How frustrating. I try to distract myself with work. And at least for a while it works. 

______

A smudge of red on the Ivory. The fingers trembling, drenched in red, hot life. The sad melody distorted. A blade’s cutting edge shimmering like the silver moon. Then red like life itself. She dances. She dances on bare feet. Her claws dig into the wet carpet. Feathers are growing from her back. 1, 2, 3. She turns gracefully. Avoiding the rotting carcasses on her carpet. Wet sounds of her feet mixing with the tact. 1, 2, 3. Bitter tears are falling on the grand piano’s keys. 

_____

“HAH!” I gasp as I jump up from my bed. Sweat is running down my entire body, yet I’m freezing. Breathing heavily. I’m disoriented. It takes a while to recognize my own room. It is the middle of the night. The dreams are getting worse and worse. Each one is more bloody than the last one. And the pictures are getting more vivid too. I grab my jacket and run down the stairs. It’s become a routine. My body moves by itself now. I stop in front of the Orange house’s gate. There he is. Just on the other side of the gate. If I reach out I can touch his cheeks.

His black eyes are fixed on me. Shimmering through the long strands of black hair, reflecting the streetlights. “Don’t disappear… please.” I beg. Nothing will get me to take my eyes off him tonight. I want to break this spell. I want to ask so many things. Why does he come out here every night. Why do I always wake up in time from my dreams to catch him. Where is Vivienne Bennett going every night. So many questions. And they are all erased from my mind as he starts moving. Not away from me, no. He raises his hand and places it on neck, pulls me closer and kisses me. The closed fence-gate still between us. The kiss is short, and innocent. When I open my eyes again he’s gone. Like a phantom. 

I touch my own lips with my fingertips. I’m sure it wasn’t a dream. Oh, what am I doing with my life. I look at the house in front of me. It’s dark, like always. “Ryan?!” I turn my head. Mrs. Dowledger looks over the fence. She’s wearing a terrible golden night-gown and curlers in her hair. “Mrs. Dowledger.” I respond. She looks troubled. “Ryan, won’t you drink a cup of tea with me.” I manage to suppress the urge to sigh only barely. “Yes. Sure.” 

The tea she offers me is bitter and it makes me thirsty drinking it, as if it was sucking the water out of my body. “Ryan, my dear. I see you wandering around outside that house every night.” “Yes. I like to take walks at night Mrs. Dowledger.” “The boy who lives there. You seem to know him...well.” So that’s what this is about. She saw the kiss. Well, not that it really surprises me. “Yes.” “Look, boy. I don’t want to judge what you choose to do, or with whom, but… him.” “What about him.” 

She gives me a mysterious look and bends towards me until she’s much too close for comfort. Her strong perfume almost knocks me out of my senses. “He’s not human.” She whispers. “What?” “Trust me boy. I know what I saw. He’s the devils child. And that woman he lives with… she is the devil’s wife. I know. I saw her taking men into that house, and they never came back out.” I raise a brow in disbelief. “Mhm… so?” “He’s her apprentice, boy. He’ll lure you into the house and you’ll never come back out. You should stay as far away as possible from these demons. Mr. and Mrs. Crow were good people. They died 9 years ago. Do you know why?” “No.” 

“Because the witch chose their son as her apprentice. So she had him kill them. You know Mrs. Bourne from the house right next to the Crows’? She swears she saw through their bedroom window, that witch was doing all those unholy things to the boy. Mrs. Bourne says she knows a thing or two about demons. She works as a medium you see. And… she said those two are definitely not human, so help her god!” “Don’t you think that’s really superstitious? Stuff like demons and so on?” “I’m just warning you my boy. You’re running head first in a trap. He’s the devil, seducing you with innocent looks. A fine young man such as you must have no problems finding a more...suitable partner.” “You mean, like a woman?” “There are many fine young ladies in the neighborhood, you know?” “No, thanks. I’d much rather take the demon. It’s late. I think I should go back now.” I sound much harsher than I wanted. “Good night Mrs. Dowledger.” With these words I leave her and her bitter tea behind and hurry back to my house. 

My dad was right. The people here have the worst opinion about Crow and his Aunt. Well I understand how a mysterious murder-case could cause a stir in a small town like this one. I also understand how people would think of Vivienne as a witch and man-eater. She certainly looks the part. What I don’t understand is how someone could think the same way about Corneille Crow. I remember seeing his naked body. All those bruises. The huge scars. Could life really be cruel enough to turn a precious, fragile creature like him into a murderer? And what if he killed his parents. What if it was self-defense? A reaction to his mother giving him these scars. Could people really demonize him for something like that, I mean, even IF it was true. I’m sure whatever happened had a reason. Still… I want to see him. Talk to him. Ask him all these things in person.  
Corneille.


End file.
